


Anniversary

by Laeviss



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Anniversary, Arranged Marriage AU, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: One year after their arranged marriage, Varian offers Garrosh a chance to get away from the pressures of the Keep.





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043520) by [Laeviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss). 



Garrosh lingered for a moment in the doorway on his way to the breakfast table. Something seemed…off. Usually he arrived shortly after Anduin and shortly before the dragon, but for some reason only Varian waited at the head of the table, letters spread out around him and lips pursed as if deep in thought.

He shot the window a look, but the sun spilled in beneath the curtains. He wasn’t any earlier than usual. Well, maybe Anduin had slept in, he tried to assure himself, shaking his head and finally entering the room.

But then Varian watched every step he took as he crossed over the threshold and made for the chair at the king’s right. His brows furrowed, and he thumbed at the corner of a letter he didn’t seem to have interest in. Garrosh swallowed, convinced that something was wrong. 

But it couldn’t be him, he reminded himself. Things had been going well. Well, unless the deal he had made with the Blackrock in Redridge had fallen through. Maybe the letters were from Lakeshire, or, even worse, from his father—

But Varian coughed, cutting off a monologue he couldn’t have anticipated. Sitting up straighter in his chair, he began, his tone curt, but his eyes searching Garrosh’s face, “Do you know what today is?”

‘What?’ Garrosh felt the knot in his stomach start to loosen, but only because he was so focused on racking his brain for answers. Stopping just behind his chair with his hands pressed against the backrest, he tried to sneak a glance at the letters, convinced that he’d find some kind of date, or maybe an invitation, or whatever else had cleared Anduin out of the room. 

It wasn’t Varian’s birthday, and Anduin’s was still a few weeks away. Hallow’s End was over, and even though Pilgrim’s Bounty had started, the official feast wouldn’t happen until—he thought back to the human calendar in his room—next week. But that had to be it. Watching his husband’s face for a moment, opening his mouth and clutching the wood beneath his fingers, he tried, short, and a little stiff, “Pilgrim’s Bounty…?”

“It’s our wedding anniversary.” 

There was no hint of judgment in his voice when he said it. In fact, Varian looked just as awkward as Garrosh, brushing the letters aside and lifting his mug to take a long sip of his coffee.But that didn’t stop Garrosh from freezing in place, jaw clenching then going slack as he tried to form a reply. 

He cursed himself for not remembering, but it hadn’t exactly been a happy occasion. Every time he walked by the canals he remembered the jeers and the way mud had dripped down his face. When he felt the cool wind on his cheeks, he couldn’t help think back to plunging his face in the holy water, and how angry Varian had looked when he burst into the cathedral.

But the anger wasn’t directed at him, he had later learned, and he reminded himself again. So much had happened since then, he should have known a year had already passed; their furious stares and the way Varian had avoided his touch that night felt like a lifetime away. 

It felt even more distant than Nagrand and their tent together—a happy dream followed by a difficult one. But then they had awoken and now they stood here, together, allies, and, though it made his face hot to say it aloud, two people who had fallen in love.

That was what he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, a knock at the door cut him off. 

“Your Majesties,” a servant bowed and entered with a tray of meat: sausages, bacon, ham, and eggs, all of the things Garrosh liked to eat. After shooting a look at Varian, he realized the menu was no accident. His face grew hot, his blush spreading from his nose to the tips of his ears.

Finally managing to stumble into his seat, he let the girl bring him his plate, then, after taking a sip of his coffee, he whispered under his breath, “Do other people know?”

“Yes,” Varian said, simply, but after the servant had turned her back, he dug under the letters and produced a folded newspaper. Passing it over to Garrosh, the king managed a laugh. Curt though it was, it set Garrosh’s nerves at ease.

On the front page of the paper, Garrosh found a picture he hadn’t yet seen: the two of them standing at the altar, at least a foot of distance between their torsos, as they bumped their lips together. Varian’s lips were so tight it was hard to tell if the kiss had even landed, but Garrosh, at least, knew it had.

And under the picture, block letters begged the question: “One Year Later: Looking Back at the Royal Alliance. Has Stormwind Changed for the Better?” 

“It’s favorable,” Varian cut in, watching him scan the words. Garrosh suddenly noticed how close their hands were, with his own gripping the paper and Varian’s waiting just a few inches away to remove it at a moment’s notice. Feeling the other man’s heat, he took a chance, scooting his arm to the side and brushing his fingers against the king’s. 

At the contact, Varian’s own hand unclenched, and they rested together, neither of them looking down or attempting to deepen the contact, but each of them lingering in it, enjoying it. The human fell silent, and Garrosh used his right hand to discard the paper. 

There was a pause, but it was comfortable. Garrosh loathed to break it, but he had to ask the question that had started to nag at the back of his mind: “I guess we’re going to have to make an appearance, right?”

He felt his husband’s hand tense against his, and took it as nerves. Public opinion had certainly swayed in their favor since that day late last autumn, but there were still the naysayers—Theramore survivors, and advocates for Pandaria, not to mention disgruntled nobles—who came out every time they went out in public together: an unwelcome reminder of that day, and how few people knew what had transpired since Garrosh arrived, how they had grown close, and how he had worked to make amends…

But then Varian coughed, and, shooting him a look, Garrosh realized that he was trying to say something else—and had been trying to say it since Garrosh arrived. This wasn’t about appearances or public opinion. This wasn’t even about that day and how uncomfortable it had been. 

No. It was about the blush that crossed Varian’s cheeks, and the way he swallowed when he glanced into his now-empty mug. This was about how the corners of his lips twitched when he finally managed a smile. Garrosh watched him, and, finally, laced their fingers together on the table between them. 

After another swallow, Varian explained, “I’ve had enough appearances. They can see us next week at the feast. No, I—” He trailed off for a moment, then glanced at the window, before managing to return his gaze to the orc’s face. “Anduin is assuming my duties today. I want you to go out with me.”

“Go out?” Garrosh prompted, confused. Hadn’t they just decided they weren’t going out—?

“On a hunt. Just us. I mean, if you want.”

A hunt? Just us? Garrosh couldn’t help but react. His fingers tightened around Varian’s hand, and he sat up straight in his chair. Whether Varian knew it or not was unclear, but the hunt was the one orcish custom they had forgone at their own wedding feast: tracking, providing for one another, bringing back furs for the clan as proof of what they could do in their union.

Looking into Varian’s eyes, he realized his smile had deepened. It must have been the grin on Garrosh’s lips that had elicited such a response. Barely able to form the word—too caught up in thoughts of competing out in the woods, of sitting together beside the fire, of maybe even finding a few moments of privacy under the trees—Garrosh just slid his fingers between his husband’s, their palms rubbing together, and the heat of his touch saying all that Garrosh wanted to say:

Yes. I do.


End file.
